Hi all. This week was a struggle and I nearly gave up, but here is my entry for Friday Fictioneers!
Only two days until prom, and decorating is underway.
Molten glue drips onto my finger, welding another button to my skin instead of the heart shaped wire frame.
Alex glances over and I quickly turn my head away, feeling every blood vessel in my cheeks dilate.
God, what is wrong with me? A question all my friends must be asking as they avoid me, like love sickness might be catching. It’s torture, this guessing game of what’s possible and what’s likely and what I want and what will actually happen.
Nothing is happening, I think, as he steps towards me.
Good evening everyone. This is an entry for Friday Fictioneers, where we write a 100 word story based on the photo prompt. The challenge is hosted here by Rochelle Wisoff Fields, who also kindly supplied the photo this week. The frog below will take you to other entries.
A lacquered bowl was gently placed in front of him.
Octopus – his favourite dish. He plucked a tentacle with some chopsticks, admiring the delicate fleshy circles.
Of course, the biggest suckers at this particular restaurant table were definitely his prospective clients.
He smiled at them, but not too much. Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen. That way, they’d never question if the deal was too good to be true.
An honest deal wouldn’t keep him in pricey sushi, would it?
“Well, I might have a solution to your problems, but it’s a bit different to what you had in mind…”
Hi all, greetings from Spain. If I can’t manage a 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers while on holiday then there’s no hope for the rest of the time! Uploading on my phone has been a little tricky as has not having an automatic word count, but I hope I’m not too far off.
Beams of torchlight in the darkness. The bark of soldiers. A hazy silhouette of a man being hauled by his armpits.
Realising that it was her man.
Here, a parting like that was a parting forever. A total rending of her heart and her hopes of escaping this godforsaken country.
Later, under a bloody sunrise, she looked down at the bench and remembered the schemes they’d concocted there, brittle as the paint she was flaking with her fingernail.
No, those crackpot plans weren’t worthy of hopes. This is why, with no faith left to gamble, she would take those flimsy chances anyway.
Decided to give Friday Fictioneers a go this week, run by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. I’m honestly not a huge political history buff, but decided to try and go in that direction anyway. I also would like to leave a disclaimer that even though I do work in manufacturing, this is definitely not something I am planning!
No missed calls. No new emails.
After two cups of espresso and reading 30 pages the latest Simon Sinek book, he picked up his eerily silent company phone, perplexed.
As he drove to the office, he decided that great leadership was creating a self-sufficient workforce which did not bombard him with communications every minute.
He pulled up to the gate. Reversed. Pulled up again. This automatic number plate recognition system was beyond ridiculous. He owned the building, for God’s sake!
He jabbed at the intercom.
“I’m sorry,” a voice came through the static. “You’re no longer permitted in this factory…”
Hello all. This is an entry for Sunday Photo Fiction. Coming in well under the word limit today – but for once it just didn’t feel right to add anything else. One thing I struggled with was the shortening of toasted sandwich – growing up this was called a toastie, but not sure how widely used that term is?
“Where’s your mum pissed off to this time?”
“Didn’t ask. Don’t care,” Layla said, almost like she meant it.
There was a greasy hiss from the toastie-maker as Rachel popped the lid.
“Puts a dint in those fabulous plans she promised?” Rachel guessed. She flipped the sandwiches onto plates and set them on the table.
Layla pierced hers with a fork. The toastie exhaled steam before haemorrhaging nutella-banana filling.
“I love these,” Layla said. “Better than birthday cake, anyway.”
This is a submission for Friday Fictioneers, a challenge to write a 100 word story based on the photo prompt. It’s a lot harder than I remembered, but I got there eventually.
“May? Are you in here?”
After a pause, the music classroom door closed.
Nestled under the piano, she tucked her costume skirt over her feet. The show would go on without her. She didn’t care if they were angry. The last exam was finished, and she wouldn’t see her fellow students again.
There was no mum or dad waiting in the audience to watch her.
A folded flyer for A Midsummer’s Night Dream propped up a stool leg.
She thought of Alice, proudly waving the flyer, proclaiming her big sister was a fairy.
This is a flash fiction for Sunday Photo Fiction – 200 words or less based on the photo prompt. Follow the linky for an explanation of the rules or more stories.
Magdalena had enjoyed 8 happy years of marriage and expected many more to come. Her husband was a thoughtful and honest man, and the idea of abandoning him for anyone else would never cross her mind.
Somewhere down in one of the many netherworlds, three old crones were watching the human world through their special crystal glass. Nothing gave this sadistic bunch more pleasure than watching unhappy mortals.
They didn’t need to get involved too much, humans were very good at making each other miserable. However, they were capable of a few manipulations here and there, and it made the watching even more entertaining.
A stranger was passing through Magdalena’s village, and all it took was one crone’s whisper: “Isn’t he handsome?”
This is an entry to Friday Fictioneers – where we write 100 word stories based on the picture prompt provided.
Most warlocks will tell you that magic cannot interfere with love. However, Arran’s 162 year experience has taught him that love can be far more fragile than many ascribe it to be.
20 minutes ago, he watched with disappointment as his young protégé disappeared into a $200-a-night hotel with his ill chosen minx. From that moment, this private tryst was doomed.
A simple incantation and smoke is billowing from just one window of the hotel. The lovers are probably oblivious to what’s happening outside, but it won’t be long before they have sudden, unexpected company.